


Rekindle

by Sunshineandmoonlight9



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29594880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshineandmoonlight9/pseuds/Sunshineandmoonlight9
Summary: Rekindle: to revive or renew something that has been lost.A year has passed since Geralt and Jaskier parted ways on the mountain. After a fateful encounter with Nilfgaard, they cross paths again. Both want to go back to the way things were. Maybe even start something new.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

The Nilfgaardian man's fist slammed into Jaskier's gut.

Air exploded from Jaskier's lungs. He stumbled back, slipped, and crashed to his knees. Freezing mud seeped through his trousers. He choked back the foul bile rising in his mouth.

Rain pelted down from the murky sky, turning what was once a dirt road into thick mud. He was outnumbered by four Nilfgaardians, and his hands were bound behind him. 

The Nilfgaardian man loomed over Jaskier. His voice was quiet. Precise. "One more time, bard. Where's the White Wolf?" 

"Here." 

The Nilfgaardians whirled around in unison. Jaskier lifted his head to see what they were looking at.

Geralt stood in the middle of the road, sword in hand.

Shaky laughter caught in Jaskier's throat. At last. _Shred them, Geralt._

The Nilfgaardians surged forward, armed with swords as well. 

Geralt's free hand gestured. Blue-white energy burst from his fingers and blasted all the Nilfgaardians backward. 

One Nilfgaardian reeled back into another. Both crashed to the ground, splattering Jaskier with mud. 

Jaskier recoiled, but they lay still. Unconscious. Thank the gods. 

Footsteps splashed through the mud behind him. A knife slid from its sheath. 

Jaskier's wrists twisted against his binds in vain, cutting his skin. He tried to cry out, but his throat burned from his earlier screams. All he could manage was a hoarse, "Geralt." 

Steel rasped against rope. Then the ropes snapped and the pressure on his wrists released. 

His bloodied hands...were free. 

He stared at them as if they were new, then turned to the human presence at his back. 

A cloaked girl was kneeling before him. Blonde hair hung over her shoulder in a braid, escaping her hood. "Can you walk?" She whispered. 

Not trusting his voice, Jaskier nodded. They had left his legs alone.

The girl jerked her chin to the side. Thick, dark trees lined the road. Perfect for hiding. "Come on." 

Clangs of steel and grunts of exertion rang out nearby. Jaskier flinched. "What about Geralt?" 

Her jaw tightened. "Come _on._ " 

"Right." Trembling, Jaskier scrambled to his feet and followed the girl into the woods. His ribs burned as if on fire, and he cradled them protectively.

She stopped behind a large tree and peeked around it, presumably to check on Geralt's progress. 

That wasn't something a child should see. Jaskier reached out to touch her shoulder. "Don't look at--" 

The girl's stare burned through the shadow of her hood and pinned him in place. Her back was straight, her chin high. 

Why did that look remind him of Queen Calanthe? 

Swallowing hard, Jaskier turned his full attention to the battle. 

Two Nilfgaardians were unconscious, and blood pooled around a third. Just one enemy now. 

The Nilfgaardian man kicked Geralt's chest. 

Geralt skidded backward in the slick mud. Fell.

The girl gasped, but Jaskier barely heard her. Every sound faded as if he was submerged in water except for his heart's deep, slow pulse. 

_Get up._

Geralt rolled out of range and to his feet, his hair whipping in a white arc. 

The Nilfgaardian man's sword slashed empty air instead of Geralt's face. He lurched off balance. 

Geralt's sword plunged through the man's chest with a sharp, wet noise. The Nilfgaardian man sputtered, eyes clenched shut. 

Geralt tucked his knee up and smashed his foot out, sliding the man off his blade. The man collapsed to the mud.

Sound crashed back to Jaskier like a breaking wave. Rain pattering, breath huffing. 

Panting, Geralt headed into the trees. He grimaced with each use of his left leg, but Jaskier hadn't seen him get hurt. When had that happened? And why wasn't he wearing armor?

Later. They could deal with that later. 

Jaskier rushed forward, clutching his side. What would he do? Laugh? Yell? Kiss? He couldn't wait to find out.

Then their bodies collided. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt and buried his face in Geralt's shoulder. Breathed in the aroma of metal and wet leather. 

"Fuck you," he mumbled.

Geralt's muscles stiffened, then relaxed. "I know. I'm sorry." His voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating against Jaskier's cheek.

Jaskier drew back, hands trailing down Geralt's arms before finally letting go.

Geralt slowly lifted his head. He was drenched, his hair plastered against his shoulders. Beads of rain trickled down his cheek and dripped off his chin.

His eyes… Pools of black. No distinction between pupil and iris. Around them, his veins were visibly dark under the skin. 

Geralt lowered his gaze. His shoulders rose and fell with each breath. "Potion. Helps me fight." 

"Oh." News to Jaskier. He swiped wet hair out of his face and invited the girl into their conversation with a gesture. "Sorry, who are you?" 

Geralt's reply of "Ciri" overlapped with the girl's answer of "Fiona." They exchanged sharp looks. 

"You can trust him," Geralt said quietly.

Arms folding, the girl turned to Jaskier. "Ciri. Princess Cirilla of Cintra."


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Geralt and Cirilla brought Jaskier to their camp, the rain had stopped and been replaced by a full moon. Their campfire was a pile of smoldering black wood.

Not good. They all needed to warm up, especially Jaskier. Geralt cast the sign of Igni with a flick of his wrist. The fire crackled to life, its enchanted flames unaffected by wet wood.

Jaskier jerked back. Geralt's eyes met his, and he grinned weakly. His mud-soaked clothes clung to his shivering body. The last thing he needed was a fever. A hot bath would be ideal, but...

"Clothes off." Geralt tossed him a sheepskin blanket. "Warm yourself up with this. I'll take care of the rest."

Nodding, Jaskier shuffled off into the surrounding undergrowth for privacy.

Cirilla shed her wet cloak while Geralt laid down his sword. Every movement was slow and heavy, weighed down by aching muscles.

A few minutes later, Jaskier returned with the blanket draped around him. Only a glimpse of his bare chest showed. Still shivering, he sat close to the fire.

Reversing their roles on the mountain, Geralt sat beside Jaskier while Jaskier stared ahead blankly. The firelight flickered across Jaskier's pale face. His unmoving lips.

Blood oozed from his wrists, glistening in the firelight. Those cuts were small but probably filthy. Could get infected.

Geralt fetched a water skin from his bag and filled a bowl. Might not be enough. "Cirilla, fetch more water."

Cirilla frowned but obeyed. Was she angry? If she was, he'd deal with it later. Maybe they could talk once Jaskier was asleep.

Water sloshed as Geralt dipped a rag in the bowl. He took Jaskier's arm.

Jaskier's eyes flew to Geralt's, as if he had forgotten Geralt was there. Maybe he had. But he didn't pull away, so Geralt brushed the rag along the wound.

Jaskier studied the fire again. Shifted his weight. His lips parted on his first words since entering the camp. "They ruined my clothes."

His voice was hoarse. Probably from screaming-- Geralt shoved away the thought. "Borrow mine. What about your lute?" If those bastards had destroyed it…

Jaskier shook his head. "It's at my camp. Not far from here. Cheaper than a tavern. I was heading to town when they saw me."

"You should stay here tonight. In case more are following you." Geralt washed away the blood on Jaskier's wrists with slow sweeps. The sickening tang of iron stung his nose, his senses still enhanced by the potion.

"Where's your armor?"

"Locked in the Cintran armory, along with my swords." Geralt glanced at his sword. "Got that from a fallen Cintran knight."

"You were in Cintra? Oh. For _her_." Jaskier's lips curved up in a soft smile. "You finally claimed your Child of Surprise."

Geralt nodded as he bandaged Jaskier's wrists. "Found each other a couple days ago. We're heading to Kaer Morhen. Safest place I know. You're...welcome to come with us."

Jaskier pulled away, leaving Geralt's hands empty. Maybe it was the light, but Jaskier's eyes gleamed too brightly. "I… I need time to think. Right now, I'm confused and in pain and I almost died. I can't…"

"Think, then." Geralt's voice was too sharp, so he tried to soften it. "Rest. Keep your cuts clean."

He kept his distance as Jaskier lay on a blanket and shifted in search of a comfortable position. When Jaskier finally settled, he let his shoulders slump.

'Confused.' Jaskier was confused. About how Geralt felt about him? Geralt had said terrible things, but he had apologized, risked his life to save Jaskier, and nursed Jaskier's wounds. Was that not enough? What more could he do?

Geralt closed his eyes. Phantom warmth washed over him as the memory of Jaskier hugged him. Had that been just the relief of being alive?

Undergrowth rustled. Cirilla slipped back to the camp with a bucket of water. Setting it down, she glanced at Geralt. "Is he coming with us?"

"He needs to think about it."

"Oh. Geralt, did you treat your necrophage bite?"

"Hmm." Almost forgot. Geralt angled himself toward the firelight and unwrapped the bandages from his injured leg. The bite throbbed in sync with his pulse.

He retrieved a vial of black liquid from his bag and yanked out its stopper with his teeth. Sweat broke out across his body in anticipation, but he needed to heal as fast as possible. A child was depending on him.

Jaw clenched, Geralt tipped the vial and poured its contents into the wound. The potion sizzled on his torn flesh with a hiss of steam. Head rearing back, he snarled between sharp bursts of breath.

Cirilla flinched. Instinctively he glanced down at the reminder of his audience. Pale green eyes stared at him.

Fuck. He was _scaring_ her.

Geralt gritted his teeth against the pathetic impulse to apologize. He rested his head back and tried to ignore the potion trickling through his veins.

"Can I help?"

First he'd found her two weeks late; now he was a burden. "I'll be fine in the morning," Geralt said, voice tight. "Get some rest, Cirilla."

Seconds passed, punctuated by Geralt's heavy breathing. Then a small hand closed around his.

Stiffening, he let his gaze flick sideways. A tattered blue cloak wrapped around Cirilla, mud caked under her fingernails. But her fingers were warm and steady.

"Ciri." She sucked in a breath. "My friends call me Ciri."

Geralt stared at Cirilla's hand. She'd likely inherited her mother's destructive power. Her touch could destroy, but it was gentle on him. "...Ciri."

Ciri smiled. It was faint and bruised with grief, but it was the first time Geralt had seen her smile. She squeezed his hand.


End file.
